


Dreamwalker

by GenericUsername01



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Child Abuse, Dreams, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Prophetic Dreams, Soulmates, Visions, Vulcan Culture, canon soulmates - Freeform, jim's life is crappy but it gets better i swear, not enough fics about that, tags and stuff may change, t’hy’la
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-17
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2019-05-08 05:44:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 17,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14687706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GenericUsername01/pseuds/GenericUsername01
Summary: T’lema: one who walks in dreams; an obscure reference to precognition and possibly a method for locating a t’hy’la





	1. Beginning

It is a myth that Vulcans do not dream. All thinking creatures dream, even rats dream. It is a logical method for the subconscious to process daily events. More simple creatures tend to dream in the form of memories of the past day’s actions, the more advanced ones are able to use their life experiences to extrapolate possible scenarios that truly occur. Dreams are as much a product of culture as they are of nature—it was not until the mid-twentieth century with the sudden popularity of color television that most humans began to dream in color, a quite illogical development, as colored vision is the norm for their species.  
  
Vulcans naturally have their own culture surrounding dreams.  
  
They are not a species fully without appreciation for creativity or the intelligence required for such. And yet, even then, creativity must be tempered by logic.  
  
It is one of Spock’s failings that his dreams are not fully logical. He can do little to control this. While lucid dreaming is far more common among Vulcans than among humans, it is not a trait that Spock possesses.  
  
Yet even he could tell when one of his dreams was far too illogical for the norm.  
  
_He was on a lush green planet, overflowing with vegetation. It was far colder than he was used to, and yet for some reason, he felt comfortable._  
  
_He stood in a park filled with strange equipment that ignited an illogical spark of excitement in his chest.  
_  
_A blond human boy stood a few feet away from him, a broad smile on his face, and made some strange gesturing motion then took off running. Without willing it, Spock found himself following at a similar pace._  
  
_The boy looked to be about eight or nine in Terran years—just a bit older than Spock. Yet Spock found his perspective to be quite a bit shorter than he was used to, his limbs smaller, his strength lacking and easily sapped._  
  
_They clambered onto the equipment together and ran over every inch of it. Spock thus deduced that its purpose was for exercise. They climbed up netting and slid down poles and sat at the top of curved inclines until they slid down those as well._  
  
_The older boy grabbed his hand suddenly and started tugging him along. Spock wanted to gasp and yank his hand away and reprimand him for his impropriety, but he found that he could do none of that. Instead, he felt himself going along with it, following eagerly, his lips stretched disconcertingly into what he suspected was a smile._  
  
_His hand felt slightly numb. Not completely devoid of sensation, but not half as sensitive as he was used to.  
_  
_The two of them ran over to a different contraption set a bit away from the rest. It was a simple support system for pairs of metal chains, long and linked together at the bottom by a piece of rubber. He and the boy each sat on one and pushed off the ground, kicking to gain momentum._  
  
_Spock did not see the logic in turning oneself into a human pendulum, as it were._  
  
The dream faded and Spock blinked awake in his bed on Vulcan.  
  
He shook his head and began getting ready for the day.

* * *

Jim bounced down into the kitchen and poured himself a bowl of cereal. “I had a super weird dream last night,” he said.  
  
“Oh yeah?” Winona asked, not looking up from her comm unit.  
  
“Uh-huh. I was in this weird dark building and there were all these holes in the ground with glowy lights and hol’grams and kids in them only the kids looked all weird. Like, they all the same hair and elf ears and really boring clothes.”  
  
“Sound like Vulcans,” Frank said.  
  
“Really?” Jim asked. “That’s cool. Anyway, then three of them came up to me and we were all talkin’ funny, like grownups, even though we were kids. But they were big kids. Like Sam’s age. Maybe even older. Then they started insulting me and for some reason I couldn’t hit them for a really long time even though I really, really wanted to.”  
  
“You shouldn’t hit people, Jimmy,” Winona said.  
  
He shrugged. “None of the stuff they said made any sense anyway.”  
  
“Then why’d you hit ‘em?” Sam asked.  
  
“They called Dad a traitor,” he said. “Also, Mommy, what’s a whore?”  
  
“What?!” she shrieked. “Where’d you learn that word?”  
  
“I heard it in my dream,” he said innocently. Sam was gaping.  
  
“Jim, you can’t just learn new words in your dream. You had to have heard it somewhere else,” Frank said.  
  
“But I didn’t. The first time I heard it was in my dream.”  
  
“Are you sure they said whore? Maybe what they really said was like… war, or something,” Sam said.  
  
“Yeah, Jim. What exactly did this boy in your dream say?” Winona asked.  
  
“He said ‘He’s a traitor, you know. Your father. For marrying that human whore.’ And then I attacked him.”  
  
“That makes no sense,” Frank said. “Why are we talking about this anyway? It’s just a dream. Kid’s stupid, of course he has weird dreams.”  
  
Winona sort of shrugged and nodded to herself. But Sam looked at Jim like he was a puzzle.

* * *

The dreams weren’t frequent. Once every few months. But after his fourth vision of life on Earth with a strange and blond human family, Spock decided to mention it to his father.  
  
Sarek was, of course, a pinnacle of Vulcan propriety and decorum. Spock had never seen so much as a hint of emotion ever grace his face. His voice was always held in perfect calm neutrality, his expression never wavering. He was self-contained and imposing, his posture never anything less than ramrod straight.  
  
When Spock told him about the dreams, he dropped his teacup on the floor and it shattered.

* * *

Amanda fiddled with Spock’s most formal robes one last time, straightening the collar and adjusting the shoulders.  
  
“Mother,” he protested.  
  
“It is logical for her to desire you to look presentable, Spock,” Sarek said. “High Priestess T’Pau is deserving of the utmost honor.”  
  
Spock did not mention that she was his grandmother and saw him every week in much less formal settings. He had already done so twice. To mention the illogic of standing on ceremony a third time would seem disrespectful.  
  
Two attendants pulled open the doors to the grand hall and Spock entered quietly, his footsteps seeming to echo in the enormous room. He approached T’Pau’s throne and knelt obediently, head bowed.  
  
“Reldai T’Pau of Shi’Kahr, matriarch of the Clan of S’chn T’gai, Head of the House of Surak, I kneel before thee,” he said.  
  
“S’chn T’gai Spock, son of Sarek, Final Heir to the House of Surak, give me thy thoughts.”  
  
She placed her gnarled, wrinkly fingers on his meld points and was in his mind in a flash of light.  
  
She saw the dreams, the park with the older human boy, sitting in a dilapidated Terran house and watching a holovision program, playing a game called tag on what appeared to be the grounds of a school, reading a book that Spock gathered was a form of Terran classical literature.  
  
She withdrew from his mind and tipped his chin up so he would meet her eyes, a breach of protocol.  
  
“Spohkh,” she said. “You have been blessed with a t’hy’la.”


	2. Reactions

T’Pring approached him after school and sat down on a bench, gesturing for him to do the same. Spock would not say that she cornered him. However, for a seven-year-old, she had quite the commanding presence.  
  
“Is it true that you have a t’hy’la?” she asked.  
  
“Affirmative,” he replied. Pride did not tinge his voice, but it was a near thing.  
  
Vulcans did not engage in idle gossip. However, the existence of the first t’hy’la bond in two centuries had become common knowledge nonetheless. T’Pau had made a formal proclamation to the city of Shi’Kahr, but still, that did not account for how the news had travelled to the majority of the planet since then.  
  
It was controversial.  
  
“In that case, I wish to break our betrothal bond,” T’Pring said. “I will be no one’s second choice, and it is sacrilege to come between t’hy’lara.”  
  
Spock nodded. “A most logical decision. We must speak to our parents at once.”  
  
“Affirmative,” she said. “It is unfortunate that you did not think to speak of the dreams even one week prior. Then our bond would not have been formed in the first place and we would not have to suffer its breakage.”  
  
“I did not comprehend the dreams’ significance at that time, T’Pring. In addition, I did not think them to be of relevance to anything, including our bond.”  
  
“I did not intend to pass judgment, Spock. I was merely stating a fact,” she said. “But surely even for a half-human such dreams were not within the realm of logical possibilities?”  
  
The only reason Spock did not snark back and refuse to answer was because her question seemed to be one of genuine curiosity.  
  
“Indeed. That is why I went to my father about them as they appeared to be persisting.”  
  
“Logical.”  
  
He nodded.  
  
“Spock,” she said. “Even though we are no longer to be telsu, I wish to continue our acquaintanceship unhampered by this incident.”  
  
Vulcans do not have friends. Not in the way that humans do.  
  
But T’Pring was fascinated by Spock, as he was by her, and Amanda had demanded a prominent role in screening applicants to be Spock’s bondmate. As the Final Heir to the House of Surak and a genius by any standards, Spock was highly sought after as a potential bondmate, hybrid status aside. Many families of noble houses had approached Sarek with logical arguments and political benefits and even promised dowries.  
  
But T’Pring had managed to impress Amanda.  
  
It was as close to a scandal as Vulcans ever came—aside from that which had occurred when Sarek announced his bonding to Amanda. In the eyes of many, Spock was marrying far beneath his status on the word of a human and for incomprehensible emotional reasons. He was the closest thing the planet had to a crown prince, and yet. _And yet_.  
  
And now he would be breaking said bond not even a full week after it had been formed because he had a t’hy’la, who happened to be human.  
  
“I would be most amenable to that, T’Pring. Your company is pleasant,” he said honestly.  
  
“Good,” she said. “Thank you.”

* * *

“Hey, Jimmy. What are you doing up?” Sam asked.  
  
“What are _you_ doing up?” he countered.  
  
“Came to get water.” He indicated the glass in his hand. “I know you were asleep earlier, so what happened? Did you have another dream?”  
  
He stared at the ground, bouncing on his toes anxiously. “Yeah.”  
  
“You should tell Mom.”  
  
“She doesn’t like it when I tell her.”  
  
“No, she wants you to tell her.”  
  
He looked up. “She wants me to stop having the dreams.”  
  
Sam sighed. “You can’t help what you dream about, Jimmy. Mom knows that. She just… She doesn’t understand why you keep dreaming about Vulcans.”  
  
“Well, neither do I!” he said. “I can’t help it! I don’t get it either! I just—“ He sucked in a breath through his nose, determined not to let his chin wobble.  
  
Sam’s eyes softened. “C’mere, Jimmy.” He took his hand and led him into the livingroom, sitting in a comfy chair and pulling his little brother into his lap. “The dreams are weird.”  
  
Jim made an offended noise.  
  
“But you’ve been having them for two years now. So maybe they’re normal for you. Just because your normal is different from other people’s normal doesn’t mean it’s a bad thing.”  
  
“Frank says I’m crazy,” he said quietly.  
  
“You aren’t,” Sam said. “Don’t listen to Frank. He’s a butthead. There’s nothing wrong with you; you just have weird dreams. But their _your_ weird dreams.”  
  
“Mommy agrees with him though. They been talking about taking me to a doctor. They thought I didn’t hear, but I did,” he said. “I think they’re gonna.”  
  
“So?” his brother asked. “So you go to a doctor, so what? Everyone goes to the doctor.”  
  
“The head doctor, Sammy. The one for crazy people.”  
  
“Jimmy, you aren’t crazy. Don’t let Frank or anyone else ever tell you that. Even if there is something wrong with you, you aren’t crazy.”  
  
Jim snuggled closer to his brother, giving him a hug. “I love you, Sammy.”  
  
He stroked his back in soothing circles, the way he did when Jim had nightmares or was crying. “I love you too, Jimmy.”

* * *

Stonn was becoming a nuisance.  
  
He made advances on T’Pring and seemed to think he was entitled to a bond with her, despite her increasingly impatient rebuffs. He had also taken to disparaging Spock and his heritage. Spock had deduced that this was due to jealousy. Jealousy of Spock’s previous bond to T’Pring, jealousy of his current revered t’hy’la bond that only awaited completion. He attempted to insult Spock in order to make himself appear as a superior bondmate.  
  
Needless and illogical, as T’Pring did not care for him in slightest and was, additionally, flagrantly homosexual.  
  
Spock concluded that Stonn was dense and unobservant as well as xenophobic.  
  
“Spock,” he heard him call out from behind him. He repressed a groan. He had been so close to escaping the school building entirely and avoiding the confrontation.  
  
“I presume you’ve prepared new insults for today.”  
  
“Affirmative.”  
  
He turned and—of course—Stonn was flanked by two of his classmates.  
  
And so it began.

* * *

Winona and Frank stepped out of the psychiatrist’s office in tandem, frowns on their faces.  
  
“Well?” Sam asked. He was holding Jim’s hand in the waiting room.  
  
Winona shook her head. “They couldn’t find anything wrong with him. He screens normal for everything.”  
  
Jim frowned. Wasn’t that a good thing? Why did she say it like it was a bad thing?  
  
“I still say they didn’t dig deep enough. Any fool with eyes can tell something ain’t right with the kid, except for that con artist ‘doctor’ in there. He just scammed us and took our money without telling us a damn thing. Now we’re back to square one.”  
  
Winona sighed and pursed her lips, looking at Jim like he was a problem.

* * *

They were able to estimate when the next dream would come within a two week timespan, and during those two weeks, Jim spent every night in a sleep clinic.  
  
He was in an uncomfortable biobed with a dozen electrodes attached to his head, monitoring his brain activity in every conceivable way while the biobed itself took stock of his vitals.  
  
He sighed deeply and rolled over.  
  
This sucked. There were holocams in the room too, so the doctors could watch him while he experienced the dream. If he experienced the dream. This was the third night in a row that they had tried, and so far, nothing.  
  
_“Oh, Spock, kan-bu, what happened?” a woman in Vulcan robes and a headscarf asked, holding out her arms to him. Jim had seen her a couple of times._  
  
_“A minor incident at the school,” he found himself saying. His voice was different than he was used to. Like it belonged to a different person._  
  
_“Was it those boys again?” the woman asked, frowning. Jim felt his lip twitch. “Oh, sweetie, come here. Let me make you some tea.”_  
  
_The woman gave him a quick hug, so fast he barely registered it, and then led him into what looked like a kitchen. A kitchen in a mansion, maybe. It was certainly bigger and fancier than one in any house Jim had ever been in.  
_   
_Jim sat down on a stool at an island and waited patiently. The woman boiled water in a strange-looking device and then added fine blue dust to it. A few minutes later, tea was poured into stone cups, the liquid dark blue and with a leaf sprig resting on it._  
  
_Jim was pretty apprehensive of the weird alien tea but for some reason he felt himself drink it with no hesitation. It tasted like alien citrus, stronger than any fruit—any flavor at all—on Earth, and it was practically billowing steam. And yet for some reason, Jim didn’t gag, burn his tongue, and spit it out at once. Instead, the bitter citrus and scorching heat felt familiar. Comforting._  
  
_It tasted like home and safety and left a pleasant warm feeling in his chest. Jim wanted to smile, but he couldn’t make himself._  
  
_The woman noticeably didn’t drink her tea until it cooled some, and she watched Jim with concern the entire time.  
_   
_“It looks like you’re going to have a black eye,” she murmured. “Do you have any other injuries?”_  
  
_“No, Mother,” he said, again in that strange, not-his voice._  
  
_“You aren’t lying to me, are you?”_  
  
_“Vulcans cannot lie.”_  
  
_Ah ha! So he was dreaming about Vulcans! Or… from the perspective of a Vulcan._  
  
_That was so weird._  
  
_“Of course not, ashal-veh,” the woman said, smiling into her teacup._


	3. Doctor’s Appointments

When Jim woke up, he heard low voices in the next room and immediately pressed his ear up against the door.  
  
“—lit up his pleasure centers as well as some other areas of the brain.”  
  
“What other areas?”  
  
“…Frankly, Mrs. Kirk, it doesn’t make sense. It’s what would be the centers of his telepathy if he had any. But he’s human, he’s psi-null.”  
  
A beat.  
  
“Are you sure?”  
  
Footsteps approached and Jim scrambled back away from the door just in time for it to open. Three doctors, Winona, and Frank stepped in and all peered down at Jim with varying degrees of wariness.  
  
“Jimmy?” Winona asked, kneeling down to be at eye level with him. “Did you have a dream last night?”  
  
He nodded quickly.  
  
“Was it about the Vulcans?”  
  
Again, a nod.  
  
“What happened in the dream, Jimmy?”  
  
“The nice lady was there again,” he said. “She called me Spock. I called her Mother.” He wrinkled his nose in distaste. Really, how snooty could you be? “And then she made me weird blue tea but it tasted really good. I don’t even like tea. It’s for grandmas. She said a bunch of weird stuff too, like I was gonna have a black eye from those boys at school, but I haven’t gotten in any fights at all lately, I swear!”  
  
The adults exchanged a look that Jim couldn’t decipher.  
  
“Did she mention anything about Vulcan? Or connections to Earth, maybe?” one of the doctors asked.  
  
“She didn’t say anything. But I did. She asked me if I was lying and I said Vulcans don’t lie.”  
  
“Jim,” another doctor said. “This is very important. Have you ever met any Vulcans?”  
  
He shook his head. “Only in my dreams.”  
  
“Not even in passing? Just on the street maybe? Has one ever touched you or spoken to you in any way?”  
  
He laughed. “There are no Vulcans in Riverside! It’s just a couple hundred white humans who hate the government and everyone who isn’t a white human.”  
  
Frank rolled his eyes. “You read too much of that liberal propaganda, kid.”  
  
“No, it’s true. Riverside is only 2% minority of any sort. The other day Mrs. Miller was talking about—“  
  
“Kid, you’re fucking seven. Mind your business and leave the adults to theirs.”  
  
“Frank!” Winona cut in sharply. She turned back to Jim with a fake, oily smile in place. It reminded him of the ones painted on dolls that he always wanted to get but Frank wouldn’t let him. “Jimmy. Are you absolutely sure you’ve never met a Vulcan before?”  
  
He nodded.  
  
“Okay. Okay, sweetie, I believe you. I need you to tell the doctors everything else you remember about any of your dreams, okay?”

* * *

He was taken to a conference room and the doctors started taking notes on everything Jim said. It made him feel weird. Important, somehow. But also a bit like a science experiment.  
  
“The tea was blue and it tasted like lemons but worse. For some reason I liked it, even though it was super gross. My voice was funny too. Like it didn’t belong to me. And I was taller and wearing weird clothes. Like a dress.”  
  
“Robes?” a doctor suggested.  
  
“Sure,” he shrugged. “Everything was in really boring colors. Mostly brown. But one time I had a dream where I was outside and everything was red. It was like a desert. The sand was all red and the sky was yellow and it felt really, really hot. There was a bear with me!”  
  
“A bear?”  
  
He nodded. “A bear with fangs.” He brought his fingers up to his mouth and dangled them down in an approximation of fangs.  
  
“Tell us about the first dream you ever had.”  
  
“Well, I don’t know if it’s the first one I ever had, but it was the first one I was old enough to remember. I was in this school building, only it wasn’t like any school I’ve ever been in. All the kids were in holes in the ground. Things were glowing and moving around. Then three Vulcan boys came up to me and started insulting me and my family, so I decked ‘em.”  
  
“Do you remember anything more specific?”  
  
“Yeah. They called my mom a whore and my dad a traitor. They said I had no place in the universe, ‘cuz I wasn’t Vulcan or human.”  
  
The doctors seemed excited.

* * *

Jim was playing a game on his padd next to Sam and pretending he wasn’t listening while the doctors talked to Winona and Frank.  
  
“The Vulcan mystic arts are a closely guarded secret,” one doctor said. “We don’t know if this is precedented or normal or how it came to be. But our current working theory is that your son has somehow become telepathically linked to a Vulcan child about his age.”  
  
Winona grabbed Frank’s arm for support. “This link,” she said. “Will it hurt Jim?”  
  
“We don’t know. It doesn’t seem to,” another doctor said. “If he develops any new symptoms, please contact us immediately.”  
  
She nodded fervently. “Of course, of course. Does… So it’s just dreams? Does it go both ways?”  
  
“That Vulcan kid can’t mind-control Jim, can she?” Frank asked.  
  
“We unfortunately have no way of knowing if the link goes both ways or if it’s just a one-way connection. As to exerting control, that doesn’t seem to be the case. As far as we can tell, the only time when your son isn’t in full control of himself is when he’s going through the motions of the dream. He doesn’t get up or move around or sleepwalk though, so for now, it seems safe enough.”  
  
“It’s strange,” another doctor said. “Jim seems to move around quite a bit in his sleep. But when the dream started, there was an instant change. He became completely still, not even his eyelids moving as they would during normal REM sleep. In fact, these dreams don’t function the same way as normal dreams at all. It’s more like he’s actually experiencing them rather than having a vision.”  
  
Frank and Winona shared a look. Sam grabbed onto Jim’s free hand and held it.

* * *

Spock was making a thorough study of the ancient texts.  
  
The Learning Center, of course, taught of Vulcan bonds, even the most sacred and rare of them, the t’hy’la bond. But It was not nearly in-depth enough for Spock. In fairness, such a bond was so rare that the study of it had almost been relegated to that of mythology. In addition, there was little scientific data on it, and what there was was centuries outdated.  
  
Spock was frequently taken before the mind healers and the Gol Masters. It was his honor and duty to contribute to the scientific canon thusly. And at the very least, he was frequently reassured that the bond was perfectly healthy and stable, awaiting completion, awaiting the day he found his beloved t’hy’la.  
  
He set aside a padd specifically for accumulating all the data he had on the identity of his mystery soulmate. He had determined a 96% probability that his t’hy’la was human, with blond hair and blue eyes—based on the appearance of their immediate family members. The remaining 4% outlier was due to the possibility of adoption or one of their presumed parents not being biologically related to them.  
  
His t’hy’la had an older brother. Spock had deemed this relation to be adequate. He seemed to incite joy and comfort in his t’hy’la, of which Spock approved.  
  
His t’hy’la read books that were far above the standard reading comprehension of most humans their age, as Spock’s mother had informed him. They seemed to be enamored with humorous holovision programs that Spock had no interest in but frequently incited t’lema to a rather pleasing laugh.  
  
The t’lema did seem to have a bit of a… rebellious streak, however. Spock did his best to disapprove. He really did. But he could not help but think that his t’hy’la was perfect in all ways and must surely be well-justified in any actions they took.  
  
According to the ancient texts, seeing one’s t’lema was a form of precognition. A vision of the night would come to you and show you the actions of your t’hy’la during the next day. These visions were designed to lead t’hy’lara to each other, and thus were said to stop upon meeting.  
  
Spock frankly couldn’t wait.


	4. Contact Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If Stonn were human, he'd be that kid who always picked on the girls he thought were cute and then grew up to be one of those redditor "pick-up artist" guys

“What is that written on your hand?” Stonn asked.

”None of your business,” Spock replied.

”It looks like a comm number.”

Spock said nothing. 

“Is your human memory truly so inadequate that you cannot recall even a single comm number without imprinting it on your skin?”

No response.

Stonn shoved him. “You will answer me.”

T’Pring marched up purposely and shoved Stonn hard enough to knock him to the ground. “You will not harm my friend.”

”You call a half-breed friend?” Stonn asked incredulously. “He is no longer he who will be your mate. His defense is not necessary. Your honor is not at stake here.”

”Yours is,” she sneered. “And I find it tarnished and your logic faulty.”

He scrambled to his feet, indignant. “My logic has never been called into question before and it is certainly not at fault.”

”False. I now call you a liar as well.”

Stonn's eyes hardened. "You would do well to remember your station, Nashih T'Pring. You are a low-born child of poverty, eleven years old and without a preliminary bond. You are undesirable and in a dangerous position that few remain in at your age, leaving you with almost no options. It is foolhardy in the extreme to scorn a potential suitor. I demand your respect."

She raised an eyebrow. "If I am so undesirable, then why do you pursue me?"

"Perhaps I pity you."

"Perhaps I regard you in the same manner as a disease-ridden Denebian slime devil that has--"

"T'Pring," Spock said. "It is illogical to listen to the words of a fool. Let us leave to more stimulating pursuits."

T'Pring paused, and Spock knew she had an abundance of insults left that she desired to say, but incidences such as this happened with alarming frequency and Spock's mother had promised them fresh-baked kreyla after school. It would thus be prudent to arrive at Spock's residence in a timely manner.

She lifted her head high and regarded Stonn imperiously. "You would do well to remember the words of Surak, Stonn," she said.  _"Nobility lies in action, not in name."_

* * *

"You should have let me continue," she said later, as they walked along the desert path to Sarek's estate.

"Had I let you continue, the conversation would have gone on for hours, perhaps days."

"Your point?" she asked. "Stonn  _needs_ to be insulted. It is my hope that with enough time and vehemence, eventually I will get through to him, and he will leave the both of us alone."

"You need not act in my behalf. I am perfectly capable of defending myself."

"Evidence points to the contrary," she said.

"Words are inconsequential. My emotional control is not so fragile as to be affected by them."

"And what of violence, Spock?" she asked. "Are you immune to that as well?"

"Stonn and his cohorts' attacks are infrequent and minimally damaging. It is nothing I cannot handle. I, unlike them, choose to adhere to the way of Surak and embrace pacifism."

"I am not questioning your choice. I have accepted that you will no longer defend yourself, despite my best logical arguments and the 13.8% chance that they will escalate to fatal or near-fatal levels of violence one day. Similarly, I ask that you do not question my choice. As I have no reason to prove myself as a paragon of Vulcan high society virtue, there is no reason I should not behave like the mannerless peasant they all believe I am."

"T'Pring--"

"No," she said. "I am fine, Spock. Now. Allow me to see your hand."

Spock obliged, and they stopped on the trail so that she could inspect without the need for touch.

"This is your personal comm number," she said.

"Indeed," he said. "It is my hope that its near-constant presence in my peripheral vision will cause it to appear in my t'lema's dreams. Hopefully, they will divine the purpose of the numbers and then promptly contact me."

"A most logical plan."

Spock bowed his head. "You honor me."

T'Pring nodded. "I wish you success. May you find fulfillment with your t'hy'la soon. Perhaps you will be able to meet them in person mere months from now."

"Yes," Spock said. "Perhaps."

* * *

Jim still had normal dreams. But every night, he found himself hoping to have one of his special ones, even though they only came every few months. He knew they were weird and "concerning" but he didn't care. He loved them. He almost felt like he knew the Vulcan in his head, like they were one of his friends.

Frank said that was weird and scary, and Winona didn't say anything but she thought so too, Jim could tell. He stopped talking about the dreams to her, and she was relieved.

But Jim  _loved_ his special dreams and so he ended up gushing about them to Sam, who always listened and reminded him not to tell anyone else, not even his three girlfriends at school. Combined with Gary, they were all his bestest friends, but even they didn't know about the dreams.

On some level, he realized that everyone was right, that the dreams were too weird and should seem scary and he shouldn't be that comfortable with having some strange alien in his head. That not knowing anything about it was dangerous. That he had no clue what was going on or how it would affect him in years to come. That he should be worried about a telepath having free reign in his sleeping mind. That he should be suspicious as to how he got this connection in the first place. That he should be worried about why it was created, how someone could be benefiting from it.

His mother had gone and erased and redacted all evidence of his doctors visits. It was all completely off the books, existing only in the memories of those involved, all cleanly swept under the rug. Winona had said she didn't want this to hurt him in the future. Jim didn't get it.

He was eight and unconcerned and completely carefree.

He and Sam were hanging out in the super cool fort they'd built in the woods a while ago. They went there a lot, especially when Frank got in that terse, snappy mood that meant he was about to start yelling soon.

"Okay, so they were in this biiiig room with lots of sad-looking furniture made out of like, black rocks or whatever, and like everything was either beige or red, and it looked super fancy but also super boring. And the Vulcan was sitting on a stone couch and reading from a super-duper fancy padd. Only all the words and stuff were in Vulcan, which was super pretty, but I can't read Vulcan. Only sometimes they were starcharts too, and I recognized some of them, and they were labelled, so now I now the Vulcan words for a bunch of different stars," Jim said. He was laying on his stomach, kicking his feet and twirling a finger in the dirt absently while he talked. "That was pretty much the whole dream. But it was nice. Oh! And my Vulcan had something written on their hand! It looked like the letters on their padd sorta, only not. So I looked up the Vulcan alphabet but I recognize any of the symbols, and now I forget 'em." He frowned.

Sam grinned, trying to keep from laughing.  _"Your_ Vulcan, huh?"

Jim blushed furiously and threw a pebble at him, which Sam dodged easily, now openly laughing. "Shut up! I didn't mean it like that!"

"Three girlfriends at school not enough for you, Jimmy?"

"My Vulcan's different! They're special," he said, face burning. Sam's eyebrows shot up, now regarding him seriously.

"'Sides," Jim continued. "I'm pretty sure they're a guy anyway."

Sam sat down in front of him, and Jim pushed off the ground and folded in on himself, hugging his knees to his chest. Sam scooted closer.

"Jimmy," he said. "You know you can date guys, right?"

He shook his head. "Frank says that's gross. He always says I should date a  _girl,_ marry a  _girl._ "

"Frank says a lot of things. He also thinks aliens are dumb and that Mom's a good cook. And we both know that's not true, right?"

Jim gave a tiny grin. "Right."

"See? So don't listen to Frank. He's pretty stupid. If you like boys, then you should date boys, Jimmy."

"Even alien boys?"

"Even alien boys," Sam said. "There's nothing wrong with that at all. The only wrong thing is being a dickhead like Frank." He shrugged. "So just don't be a dickhead."

Jim gave a wide, gap-toothed grin and beamed up at his brother. "You're the best, Sammy."

He scoffed. "Of course." Then he fidgeted uncomfortably, itching to put this whole emotional closeness business behind him. "Wanna play Klingons versus space pirates?"

"Yeah!"


	5. Warning Signs

Winona made the announcement the day before Christmas Break ended. She hadn't wanted to ruin the holiday season for her boys.

"Kids," she said, beaming. "I have very exciting news. I'm going to be going on a new mission soon."

Sam set down his fork, looking at her full of betrayal. "How long?"

"It's a three year assignment patrolling the Neutral Zone. I'm being promoted to Chief Engineer on the Endeavor. This is a very exciting opportunity for me."

"Can we come with you?" Jim asked.

"No, sweetie. Starfleet is for grownups. Frank is going to take care of you."

"But I looked up the regulations and officers are allowed to bring their kids on board. It's true, I promise."

Sam grimaced and went back to eating his dinner with a vengeance.

"I'm sorry, Jimmy, but starships are very dangerous places. I don't want you to get hurt."

He puffed out his chest. "I won't get hurt."

Winona smiled. "Don't you want to spend more time with your stepdad, Jimmy? You three can all hang out together, and go to ball games, and fish--"

Sam looked up at her with a glare. "I asked Frank to come to my science fair and he laughed at me."

"Sam! I'm sure that isn't true."

"No, it is. You were in a meeting with the admiralty and Frank wouldn't let me take Jimmy without an adult. I won first prize, not that anybody cares."

"Sam," Winona said sharply. She sighed and rubbed her temple. She was getting a tension headache. "You know that Frank and I care about. Sometimes adults have responsibilities that they simply can't get out of--"

"Yeah, like sitting on the couch and drinking beer."

"Sam, you have won the science fair every single year since fifth grade. I am sorry that we missed it once. But it is hardly fair for you to speak about your stepfather this way for one little mistake." That she didn't even believe happened. Or at the least, not the way that Sam was portraying it. She was certain that Frank would tell a different story. "Now if we could get back on topic, please?"

Nobody said anything, the air fraught with tension.

"I ship out June 1st."

* * *

Jim was especially sullen on his birthday a few days later, even moreso than he normally is.

Jim had had birthday parties, a few years. Sam had always had them, and when Jim had turned five, he had put up a big stinch about how it wasn't fair that Sam always got a party but he never did. He had dragged the negotiation out for months, complete with frequent crying, begging, and advocation from Sam. Winona had finally broken down and tiredly agreed.

The party had been half-hearted at best, featuring ten other kids Jim went to preschool with. No one had put up any decorations and all the adults kept talking about Jim's dead dad. Winona cried. At one point, the kids were yelled at for being too loud and told to settle down and play something quiet, which mainly meant coloring or watching the holovision. All the better to hear the conversation about George Kirk's death. Winona kept crying and describing the final battle in graphic detail and giving accounts of her harrowing, protracted grieving process that she wasn't even done with yet.

By the time birthday #6 rolled around, Jim was excited all over again and invited his entire kindergarten class and also his teachers. He was practically buzzing with anticipation, because this time his party was going to be as cool as Sam's, he knew it. And the night before, he'd had a dream of his Vulcan, which he considered the best birthday gift ever. He woke up with a huge smile on his face and jumped out of bed, screaming that it was his birthday.

Winona spent the entire day in bed crying. Frank quietly informed him that his party was cancelled, his mom just couldn't do it today, and then he started making calls to inform the would-be guests.

Birthday #7 he didn't hype up so much, having learned his lesson from previous times. The party was just a handful of kids from school and a monstrous, overly-colorful cake that Jim and Sam had made and decorated all by themselves. But a blizzard had rolled into town two days before, so only three kids actually showed.

Winona got drunk at his eighth birthday party. She made two kids cry, and got a bunch of angry phone calls from various parents, both over her choice of discussion topic and her choice of language. 

Sam had totally Winona not to bother throwing him a party this year because no one cared anyway, and that had started a fight, and so as a punishment, Winona had agreed fine, Sam wouldn't have a birthday party that year.

Then time for Jim's had rolled around and no one had even mentioned it. Jim decided it wasn't worth the trouble. Maybe he just wasn't a birthday type of kid.

And now here he was, freshly nine years old and home from school, and as soon as they got off the hoverbus, Sam took him by the hand led him way past the house and into the woods, straight towards their fort.

The snow drifts were so big that Jim had to practically hop every time he took a step and the wind was biting tears from his eyes and his backpack was way too heavy to carry this far, but he didn't care, he just wanted to get to his fort.

He and Sam had to dig snow out from in front of the door to get in, but then they did and it was a little bit warmer and they shrugged off their heavy backpacks and collapsed on the ground, breath coming in clouds.

For a while, they just sat there, watching their breath and feeling the cold.

"Had any dreams lately?" Sam asked.

"No new ones," he said.

"Oh," he said. "When was your last one?"

"Sometime in November."

"Ah, okay. You should have one in a little while then."

"Yeah," Jim said. "A while."

They lapsed back into silence for long minutes, both caught up in their own heads.

"Do you think Mom's noticed we never came home yet?" Jim asked.

"Nah," Sam said. "The aircar wasn't in the driveway. She's not even home."

"Oh."

"Jimmy, do you ever think about leaving?"

"What do you mean?"

Sam shrugged. "Getting out of here. Leaving Riverside for good. Finding a better place to be, where maybe things aren't so sucky. Like, do you ever want to run away?"

"Of course." Jim frowned. "Why?"

Sam shrugged, leaning back against the wall of the fort. "I dunno, just thinking about it. Like, where would you go if you could?"

"The stars," Jim said dreamily.

"And find your Vulcan?" Sam teased. Jim blushed slightly, but Sam just laughed and ruffled his hair. "C'mon, I'm just messing with you. You know that. I think it's cute."

Now Jim's blush was more indignant than anything. "I am not  _cute,_ Sam, I'm  _nine_. Geez."

"I'd wanna go off-world too," Sam said, ignoring his little outburst entirely. "As far away as I could get. To the edge of the frontier, maybe, as far as any human has ever gone."

"Like to an alien world?"

"I was thinking a colony planet, but yeah, maybe."

Jim hummed and closed his eyes.

After a few minutes, they got out their homework and started in on it, Sam helping Jim with science and Jim helping Sam with his analysis of Pride and Prejudice, because Jim is the only third grader in the world who is absolutely obsessed with classical literature. Homework was light in deference to fact that break had just ended, and so after that they studied for a few hours, and then took to reading for pleasure.

They didn't go inside until it was dark out and their toes and fingers were numb and their faces were bright red. Winona still wasn't back, and wherever she was, Frank was presumably with her.

Sam made them both grilled cheese and tomato soup for dinner and it was the best birthday Jim had ever had.

* * *

Spock's peers were intelligent enough to strike him only in places his clothes would cover and when T'Pring wasn't around, thankfully. Spock had 2.1 times the strength of a human. It was a fraction of that of a full-blooded Vulcan, pitiful and laughable in their eyes. He was weak and frail and small for his age. His hybrid physiology came with many complications that were still being worked out and which effectively rendered him a very sickly child. There was also always the chance that he would spontaneously start to die if his DNA began to unravel.

Spock's entire family had been warned repeatedly that that could happen at any point in his lifespan, though it was significantly more likely in his younger years. There had been Vulcan-human hybrids before, after all. Failed attempts that did not survive past infancy.

Sarek had refused to form a familial bond with him until he completed his kahs-wan because of this. He had deemed the risks of the bond breaking to outweigh the possible benefits. To this day, he had never once melded with him.

It was of absolutely no concern to Spock, however, as he possessed other bonds with which to grant him mental stability, and he melded with other individuals when he had the need for it. His telepathic needs were by no means neglected. His bonds with his mother and siblings were quite strong.

So he was dismayed when he was informed that his bond to Sybok would be forcibly broken.

Their whole family had been called before the High Command to give testimony. The elders looked down on them imperiously from their elevated positions. Sybok stood midway between his family and the council, chin held up in defiance. Spock had no doubt that emotion was showing clear as day on his face. Sybok had the purest, most noble blood of any Vulcan on the planet-- the son of a princess and a lord heir of Surak. He had done everything in his power to prove that that meant nothing.

He did not even look like a Vulcan, not really. His hair was shaggy and overgrown, covering the tips of his ears and his slanted eyebrows. He had elected to grow out a beard, like some sort of pre-Reform warrior. He blatant embraced his emotionalism and showed no regard for basic standards of telepathic propriety.

He had shown up for his meeting before the High Command in human clothing, ripped jeans and a t-shirt with what was likely supposed to be a joke on it, which. Where had he even acquired clothing like that.

He had sauntered into the council chambers with a grin on his face, given a mock salute, and then asked them, "'Sup?"

"S'chn T'gai Sybok," T'Pau said, glowering down at him. "Thou art a disgrace to all of Vulcan. What dost thee have to say for thyself?"

"I don't see why I'm considered a disgrace. I'm a pretty cool guy, y'all should be glad to have me here."

Amanda was projecting a rant about respectfulness at him through their bond so strongly that Spock could hear parts of it through  _his_ bond to her.

"Thee hast been accused of entering the minds of 47 individuals without their consent. Once in these minds, it has been said that thee removed their capacity for free will, replacing it with a drive to serve thee. These victims then went on to entice others towards thee."

"I don't like the word 'victims.' I prefer 'followers.'"

"Sybok, thee has been accused of 47 counts of mind control, Vulcan's most severe crime. How dost thee plead?"

"Oh, I'm definitely guilty. But just to set the record straight, so far my count's at 62 followers. Not 47. And that's not counting the eight y'all captured in that raid on the compound. Fucking rude, by the way."

"What defense dost thee offer? Thee may take any time necessary to construct a sufficiently logical argument."

"My defense?" Sybok asked. "It had nothing to do with logic.  _I_ have nothing to do with logic. Those people were in pain. Terrible pain. I showed them this, and then I took their pain away. And they were all so goddamn grateful. Some of them thank me every chance they get. Others have a bit more restraint, but not much. They all fell at my feet in worship, and well, what was I to do?"

"I see. Thy argument is blatantly illogical. No one forced thee to invade their minds. As such, thee will be afforded maximum punishment. All thy bonds will be severed, and then thee will be escorted to the nearest Federation starbase and deposited there. Thou poses too great a threat to society to be allowed to continue within it. Thee are hereby banished from Vulcan forevermore."

Amanda let out a choked sob before she was able to control herself.

"Thanks Grandma, but you haven't seen the last of me."

"T'kona."

Sybok held out his hands for the cuffs, smiling.


	6. Imperative

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spock's mother was a teacher in TOS canon and I love the mental image of her teaching multiplication to little Vulcan kindergarteners. I know most people write her as a stay at home mom and housewife by the time she lives on Vulcan, and yeah maybe she did that when her kids were little, but I honestly can't picture Amanda Grayson doing that for the rest of her life and not getting immensely bored

Their bonds with Sybok are broken and Michael leaves for Starfleet almost immediately after. Spock is twelve and far too dignified for such an emotional display, but out of respect for his sister's human needs, he allows himself to give her one last hug goodbye.

Sarek works long days, as he always has, but Amanda's schedule is synced almost exactly with Spock's, due to her position as an instructor at the Learning Center for children in Level Three instruction-- mostly six and seven year olds. She was the first and so far only off-worlder to demonstrate sufficient intelligence as to be entrusted with the instruction of Vulcan's youth. The Vulcan Council deemed her to be 'an exemplary human' and 'a credit to an otherwise inferior species.' She is still seen as overly emotional and occasionally irrational, but not so much as to be unemployable or detrimental to any children exposed to her.

Spock had always thought of his mother and sister as highly emotional beings. Then he began to have dreams of his human t'hy'la, and realized just how Vulcan they behaved. His t'hy'la truly was irrational and extremely emotional. Michael and Amanda hardly seemed to be from the same species in comparison.

During one of his earlier dreams, he had been in a crowd of twenty-six young humans attended by two adults. They had been led out into a park-like area that was positively soaked in the color green. The two adults had then orchestrated the strangest ritual Spock had ever witnessed, in which they apparently 'married' the letters Q and U. The children had seemed very happy for the letters. Their union was apparently one of 'true love' and they would never be separated again until the end of time.

Spock had told Amanda about that dream to ask for clarification and she had laughed until she cried, and then stated how she missed Earth children. She apparently could not wait to meet Spock's t'hy'la.

Spock did not often talk about the contents of his dreams. He hoarded them to himself, like something infinitely precious, to be guarded at all costs. He continued to add to the list of known information on his padd. It was still abhorrently short, however, which was unacceptable, as Spock wanted to know everything.

  * His t'hy'la's family was human, blond, and blue-eyed. It consisted of a mother, father, and older brother. It would be immensely fortuitous if the t'lema shared these recessive traits, which is likely. Only 17% of humans have blue eyes. Only 2% are naturally blond. The combination is even rarer.
  * They had a penchant for Terran classical literature. This was apparently unusual, and would hopefully make them easy to identify.
  * They are outdoors frequently, and live in a place that experiences snow, which they appear to enjoy playing in.
  * They once identified a human named Kailey as their 'girlfriend.' Spock asked his mother about this term, and realized he may have to fight to claim his mate, which was distressing. In addition, this Kailey person appeared to be a quite inferior and dimwitted human, clearly unworthy of Spock's t'hy'la.
  * The t'lema once received something called 'detention' for challenging an instructor's limited overview of the movement of celestial bodies. Spock found this punishment illogical, as his t'hy'la had clearly been correct, even if his delivery of that correction had been overtly disrespectful. It was logical to correct those who are wrong so that further misinformation is not spread.
  * The t'lema once rescued a small stray cat from some children who were mistreating it on a playground. They received a punch and a kick for their efforts, which inflamed Spock's blood, and secreted the kitten away to the barn in their backyard, promising to take care of it. The t'lema named it Spot.
  * They were attempting to learn Vulcan. This appeared to be a secret that only their older brother knew of. He had teased Spock's t'hy'la thoroughly over it, implying romantic motivations that made Spock's heart feel illogically light in his side.
  * His t'hy'la referred to Spock as 'my Vulcan.'



All of this was acceptable information (except for the existence of Kailey), and further proved the t'lema's worthiness and honorableness. Even if they were not t'hy'la, Spock could not help but imagining them as the ultimately perfect mate. True, they were not anything like what Spock had pictured for himself as a young child, but now that Spock had seen glimpses of their character, he could not imagine desiring any other. Every scrap of information he learned about them seemed so natural, so fitting. His t'hy'la was a vastly different person from Spock, and yet, he found he wouldn't have them any other way.

Until he had a dream a few weeks after he turned thirteen and he decided that absolutely nothing about this was acceptable.

_The t'lema was up in their room, reading, sprawled out on their stomach on their bed. The document on their padd appeared to be one of poetry, the label on the bottom of the screen attributing it to Walt Whitman. Spock could feel the t'lema's lips stretch into a smile as they read._

_There was the pounding of footsteps receding downstairs and then a harsh adult's voice barked, "And just where the hell do you think you're going?"_

_"Out," another, younger voice said. The older brother, Spock suspected. His voice had deepened since the last dream._

_"You aren't going anywhere. I told you I wanted that garage cleaned spotless this weekend."_

_"And I told you I had to study. If I want to get into that early admission program--"_

_"You aren't going get into that fancy program and you know it. When I tell you to do something, you do it. You're grounded for however long I feel like and you're gonna go out there right now and clean the goddamn garage."_

_A pause._

_"No."_

_"The hell'd you just say to me?"_

_"I said no. I have a study group at the library--"_

_The sound of a smack, skin on skin. The t'lema turned off the padd and buried their head in their pillow._

_The man started screaming. "The hell do you mean, no?! I am your goddamn father and you will do as I say! This is **my** house, and you live under  **my** roof, and you will follow  **my** rules! If I told you to scrub the bathroom with your goddamn toothbrush, I'd expect you to drop to your knees and do it!"_

_Another blow sounded, much harsher this time, and something heavy fell to the ground with an oof. The t'lema's breaths were shuddering, body tensed to fly up in a second._

_Another hit, and a choked out sob accompanied it. The t'lema sat up sharply and crept out of their room quiet as a mouse, sneaking down the stairs slowly. They could hear their own heartbeat in their ears, and the sensory input transferred to Spock through the dream._

_They hovered about five steps up and froze, pitched forward with uncertainty. Their brother was in a crumpled heap on the floor, bleeding from his nose and favoring his left side. Their father stood over him, the picture of malicious rage and condescension._

_Their father yanked the brother up by his elbow. "I've got news for you, boy: being a know-it-all isn't gonna get you anywhere in life. Hard, honest labor will. Now, you're gonna go outside and clean the garage, the barn, the chicken coop, and chop every last log in that pile of firewood. And you aren't allowed back in this house until every last one of those things is done."_

_"But that'll take days!"_

_His father slapped him across the face. He dragged him over to the door, flung it open, and shoved the teen out of it. "Then I suggest you get fucking started," he said. "'Cause until it's done, you're locked out."_

_He slammed the door in his face and turned away, about to go back to the well-worn seat in front of the holovision. He caught sight of the t'lema instead. "And just what are you looking at?'_

_The t'lema immediately turned and started sprinting up the stairs, but their father called. "Hey! I asked you a question, kid, and you're damn well gonna answer. Get your ass back down here. You don't leave until I say you can leave."_

_The t'lema drew in a shaky breath and went back downstairs. They stood before their father, an imposing man at least a foot and a half taller than them, but the t'lema made sure to keep their distance, standing much farther away than what Spock suspected was normal for a human conversation._

_"What did you just see there?" the father asked quietly._

_"Nothing."_

_"Nothing? Is that all you have to say?"_

_"Nothing, sir."_

_Their father nodded. "Go on up back to your room. I ordered us pizza about ten minutes ago; I'll bring you up a slice when it gets here."_

_"Thanks," the t'lema said, voice impossibly soft. They hurried back up the stairs to the sanctuary of their room, burrowing under their blankets as if to protect themselves from the universe at large._

Spock sat up in bed, instantly awake and with anger boiling in his veins. He stalked purposefully out of his room and over to that of his parents, rapping his hand against the door brusquely.

Eight seconds passed, and Spock was about to knock again, louder this time, when the door opened abruptly. Sarek stood there with his hair and sleeping robe in slight disarray, lips pursed in a tense line.

"Spock. It is 0243 hours."

"I am aware," he said. "I have an urgent matter I must discuss with you."

"And it cannot wait until 0430 at the least?"

"Negative, it cannot." He looked up at his father imploringly, pleading in his eyes.

Sarek inhaled deeply in a way that was not technically a sigh. "Very well. Come."

He closed the door to allow Amanda additional sleep, and then led Spock down the hall and into the kitchen. The lights flicked on automatically, and Sarek began making their traditional morning tea. He sat down at the table and gestured for Spock to do the same as the kettle boiled.

"What troubles you?" he asked.

"It is imperative that I unite with my t'hy'la immediately."

Sarek looked at him for a moment, like he couldn't believe he had been dragged out of bed in the middle of the night for this. "Patience is a virtue, my son. You will meet your t'hy'la soon enough."

"The time for it to be 'soon enough' has already passed. I request that you use your political connections and resources to launch a formal investigation. They must be found and brought to me immediately."

"Sybo-- Spock. My apologies, I am tired. This human is your destined-one. Becoming familiar with them through dreams is a privilege. You will meet them at the appointed time. I assure you they are worth the wait."

"But Father, they require rescuing. They are living in an abusive household. This is unacceptable."

Sarek did not reply immediately. The tea kettle started whistling, and he rose, getting out two teacups and pouring them both a portion. He eased back into his chair carefully, his joints beginning to grow stiff in his advancing years.

"What information do you know about your t'hy'la that would aid in the discovery of their identity?" he asked.

Spock eagerly recited every single on his list from memory. Sarek sipped his tea in silence. Spock felt strangely like his skin was buzzing. He believed, for the first time in his life, he was experiencing impatience.

"That is very little," Sarek said slowly. "Many humans share those attributes."

"Negative. My t'hy'la is exceptional and unique."

Sarek nodded. "I will concede this," he said. "However, an investigation would be futile. I am sorry, my son. There is nothing I can do."


	7. Investigation

_He's facing a Vulcan girl who looks a few years older than him and is also ridiculously pretty, if somewhat severe looking._

_She sits down next to him. Next to his Vulcan. "I have rendered a visual portrayal," she said, and showed him a padd. It had a drawing app open, and a crude sketch of a human. It almost looked like Frank._

_"It is adequate," his Vulcan said. "Though the being appears crueler in person."_

_"I cannot draw cruelty, Spock. I can draw specific facial features described in concrete terms. I do not know how to make his eyes 'harsh' or his mouth 'mean' or give him a general air of villainy. His face is his face."_

_"Very well," the Vulcan-- Spock?-- sniffed. "But I maintain the belief that one can see his evilness through his very countenance."_

_"Most logical," the girl said, and Jim wanted to snort with laughter. He'd never heard a Vulcan be so obviously sarcastic. "You have already 'hacked' into Earth's criminal profiling database, I presume?"_

_What._

_"Indeed."_

**_What._ **

_"Let us run the image through facial recognition, then."_

_He felt his Vulcan nod, and the image was uploaded from one padd to another. 'Spock', apparently, typed fast, fingers flying over the screen. Images of thousands of faces flashed across it, millions of them, a who's who of Earth's criminals. It was moving too fast for Jim to really comprehend or truly look at._

_It took several minutes before the padd dinged. 'Search completed,' it read. 'No results.'_

_"Illogical," Spock said. "It is inconceivable that this man has never faced punishment for his crimes."_

_"Perhaps his behavior is new," the girl said._

_Jim felt his face pull into a frown. "But there is no reason for such tendencies to develop. They are quite plainly unwarranted. They could never **be** warranted."_

_"Have you considered that perhaps the human is illogical?"_

_"T'Pring--"_

_"I am being serious, Spock," she said. "Humans do not follow so stringent a philosophy of pacifism as Vulcans do. This man is eminently illogical and ruled by violent, disturbing emotions."_

_"Yet apparently lucid enough to avoid detection."_

_"Indeed," she said. "It is puzzling."_

_"Images of this man must exist somewhere. Perhaps on human social media."_

_"We have no method of cross-referencing every image on the holonet. We should not even be able to do such for criminals. We have acted illegally to gain access we have no right to."_

_"Indeed," Spock said. He began deleting evidence and programs from his padd. "I shall not give up, however. I will find my t'hy'la, and then I shall treasure them and bring the one who has hurt their family to justice."_

The dream ended, leaving Jim more confused than ever. He rubbed sleep out of his eyes and crawled out of bed, going over to his bookshelf and retrieving a padd. He thought of this as his 'Vulcan padd.' It had all his textbooks and learning materials on it.

He pulled up a Vulcan-to-Standard dictionary and began scrolling through the T's section.

T'hy'la:  _n._ friend, brother, lover. One who is dearest to another. A shield-brother or brother in arms who is treasured as both a friend and a lover, a lifelong companion. An ancient warrior bond of considerable rarity and reverence in Vulcan culture. Sometimes rendered into Standard as 'soulmate.'

T'hy'la. T'hy'la. Jim kept turning the word over in his head and on his lips. He listened to an audio file and practiced it over and over, getting the pronunciation just right.

T'hy'la.

Was Spock talking about him? Did he even know about him? What if the dreams were a one-way connection and Jim had the world's biggest, most embarrassing crush while Spock didn't give two shits about him?

What if when he said t'hy'la, he was talking about someone else?

Jim shuddered, feeling a sensation like ice water being poured over his chest. This was so weird. They were just dreams. He didn't even know Spock, not really. Why should he care if some kid he had never met had a soulmate who wasn't him? What did that matter? It shouldn't affect him at all. From what he knew of Spock's life, he should really be happy for the guy. He deserved something good for once.

Jim resolved to be happy for him as soon as the crushing lump of sadness in his chest went away.

* * *

Frank got worse and worse the longer that Winona was gone. Sam got the brunt of it. It turned him bitter, harsh, a troubled kid who lashed out at anything.

His grades were starting to slip and Jim knew just how much that was affecting him. He didn't care about the bruises so much as he cared about the fact that Frank was ruining his life and future. It was killing him, eating away at him.

Jim should have seen it coming, really.

"Take me with you," he said desperately.

"I can't, Jimmy, I'm sorry."

"But why?" he asked. "I'll be good, I promise!"

Sam gave him a tiny smile. "I know. You've always been the good kid, Jimmy. That's why Frank never hits you. And that's why I know you're gonna be fine without me."

"No I won't!" he said. "You can't leave, Sammy, things'll be horrible without you!"

Sam pulled him in for a hug, holding him close and placing a kiss on top of his head. "No, they won't," he said. "Take care of yourself for me, okay Jimmy?"

Sam released him, gave another sad smile, and picked up his bag and walked away. Jim's eyes hardened.

* * *

_The t'lema's perspective was from the driver's seat of an antique ground car, Spock realized._

_He felt a stab of concern and confusion. His t'hy'la seemed too young and small for this activity. Surely it was unwise for Earth children to be permitted such liberties._

_He glanced at the spedometer and felt a spike of panic. Legal or not, this was unsafe. A call came in then, a familiar man's voice coming over the speakers._

_"Are you out of your mind?! That car's an antique! You think you can get away with this just 'cause your mother's off-planet? You get your ass back home **now!** You live in my house buddy. You live in my house, and that's my car. You get one scratch on that car and I'm gonna whip your--"_

_The t'lema disconnected the call, thankfully. Spock found that he had an almost visceral reaction to his t'hy'la being threatened._

_Spock felt traces of tears well up in his eyes and was further disturbed. What was going on here? Why was his t'hy'la crying and engaging in risky behaviors?_

_Classical music was blaring from the stereo. Spock had never heard them listen to its like before; that must be a new development._

_They fumbled for the release and the convertible's roof went flying off, bouncing along the road behind them. The t'hy'la shouted joyously. Spock worried about their near-hysterical state._

_The whir of sirens came up from behind the vehicle and quickly gained on them, a robocop on a hoverbike pulling up alongside the vehicle. "Citizen, pull over."_

_The t'lema did not. Spock felt a surge of disapproval. Instead, they pressed harder on the gas and veered the car onto a farmer's trail off the road._

_The car burst through the gates of a quarry. A cliff was coming up. A cliff was coming up and the t'lema leaned forward, pressing even harder on the gas. Spock felt cold, numbing dread and horror. No. No. His t'hy'la couldn't kill themself. Spock was coming for them, coming to rescue them, just a little while longer and things wouldn't be so bad---_

_The car streaked towards the cliff but then the t'lema started screaming, braking hard and jerking the wheel. The car spun, falling off the edge of the cliff, and--_

The dream ended abruptly. Spock was safe in bed on Vulcan, cold all over and brreathing hard.

"No!" he screamed.


	8. Distress

It was 0458 hours and no Vulcan businesses would open for at least another two minutes.

Spock paced anxiously in front of the door to the mind healer's office. It was a horribly emotional display, and he  _did not care._ His parents were utterly silent on the matter, though Amanda looked worried.

"Spock, kan-bu, I'm sure it'll be alright," she said.

"They drove a car off a  _cliff,_ Mother," he said. "This would not have happened had they already been found. I  _told you_ it was imperative. The t'lema required immediate rescue, and you ignored me, and now they are dead."

"Spock!" Amanda scolded.

"My son, there is nothing I could have done."

"That is false," he said. "You have resources, connections. More than I do. You could have found them and saved their life. It is because of you that they are dead."

"Spock, that is not true," Amanda said. "It is illogical to blame your father for the actions of another, especially a person seventeen lightyears away whom he has never met."

And perhaps in any other situation, Spock would have felt duly chastised, but right now, all he felt was betrayed at his mother not taking his side.

Then the mind healer's office opened and their whole family went inside.

* * *

The priestess pulled her hand back from Spock's meld points. "The bond remains," she said. "It is healthy and viable and stable. You would have been able to discover this yourself through meditation."

"I found myself entirely unable to achieve a meditative state, much less find the necessary focus to seek out a fledgling bond. In addition, I wished to be assured of the bond's health as well as its existence."

"Very well," she said. "It remains fledgling, but of course, unusually strong for a premarital bond. It has experienced no breakage nor strain. It is logical to assume from this that your t'hy'la's lifeforce has not wavered, and that whatever injuries they may have sustained were not life-threatening. Your t'hy'la remains alive, Spock. They continue to await you."

His breath rushed out of him in relief.

* * *

After Frank picked Jim up from the police station, he took him home and beat the shit out of him.

No marks on his face, though, he wasn't stupid.

Jim went into the bathroom and did what he could for his injuries, cleaning blood off with a wet cloth. He should probably put something on the cuts, neosporin or rubbing alcohol or something. But the tube of neosporin was mostly empty, so Jim figured he should save that for bigger, possibly infected injuries.

And he had gotten sanitizer in hangnails enough times to know that rubbing alcohol would hurt as much or more than actually getting the injuries did. So he just put bandaids on a few of the bigger cuts that wouldn't stop bleeding and left it at that.

He put his clothes back on-- long sleeves and jeans-- and went back into his room to hide out and read.

* * *

There were two years left in Winona's patrol assignment and those two years were hell on Earth for Jim.

Frank started drinking more and more, until him being sober was a rare occurrence. He got fired from his job at the shipyard, and now they were living entirely off of government assistance and the pay Winona sent home. Most of it went to booze. The stuff that was left over went to bills.

There was a point in sixth grade when Jim owned four pairs of jeans and three shirts. He came up with a pattern for wearing them that was the same every week, and repeated two of the shirts every week. Frank decided to throw a fit about it one day, smacked him around a bit before school and demanded he start wearing different clothes, saying that it made him look bad.

Jim had no clue how to respond. He told his friend Gary about it in extremely broad terms and he gave him three of his own shirts to keep, saying his mom wouldn't notice and that it was fine. Jim protested for over ten minutes, but in the end, he needed new clothes and Gary was right, he had plenty of others.

* * *

Jim's special dreams only came once every 2-3 months. It evens out to 4-6 dreams a year. He has a tiny notebook hidden deep in his closet that details everything he can remember about every one of the dreams that he has had. That he can remember. It only occurred to him to start keeping a log of them when he was ten, but he filled in as much back info as he could.

Bullies at school.

A long walk in the desert with a sehlat at his side.

Bullies at school again.

Spock having tea with his mom.

Him studying.

Lots of bullies at school.

A very intimidating Vulcan man giving him a lecture on nonemotionalism.

Being ranked first in his class.

Bullies at school.

Meeting with an extremely old Vulcan woman whose hair was black with two streaks dyed pure white. She looked grave and spoke only in High Golic. The dream ended with her reaching for Spock's face, and she kept saying something about the klee-fah-tu.

Spock playing soft music on a Vulcan harp, melodic, expert, his movements almost reverent.

Celebrating Hanukkah and Jim realizing with a shock that Spock was half-human, his mother in the headscarves had been human this whole time.

T'Pring proudly declaring that she intended to join Starfleet and metaphorically give Vulcan tradition the finger, because she hated it with all her soul. Spock saying that while he supported her rebellion, he still intended to join the Vulcan Science Academy.

Bullies at school, and Spock responding to them with cutting sarcasm and sass now.

Their family bringing home a new baby sehlat cub, and Spock logically playing with it and showering it in completely logical affection.

Some sort of a verbal, timed math competition that Spock appeared to win.

Spock performing minor experiments in his room that sometimes literally blew up in his face.

In short, Jim was very, very screwed, and he wouldn't be getting over his crush on a boy seventeen lightyears away any time soon.

* * *

And then Winona came home and suddenly everything was different.

WInona was a smart woman, and no one could call her unobservant. She noticed things. She noticed how Jim kept his head down, flinched at loud sounds and sudden movements. How he stuck to her side like glue. At first, she had thought that he had just missed her, but it was more than that. It was like a genuine fear of being parted from her.

She noticed how he did everything Frank asked within an instant. He never talked back or put up a fuss about practically doing every chore in the house, it seemed, he just meekly did as he was told, even hurried to do it.

He was not the same Jimmy she had left behind three years ago.

At first, she thought Frank was just being a bit harsh on the boy. Domineering, maybe, using a firm hand to keep him in line. Not that Jimmy was actually behaving at school or anything. It appeared that his new behavior was restricted solely to home.

But Winona still didn't put it together.

The sixth grade Federation History teacher, Ms. Alvarez, did. And she called a social worker and their home was investigated.

That's when everything fell apart.

* * *

Jim spent six months, total, in foster care. When they gave him back to his mom, she had kicked Frank out of the house and started divorce procedures. Her face was drawn and pale and she was so exceedingly tired. She spent a lot of time in bed now, and started drinking a lot more than Jim remembered. Not as much as Frank, but she insisted she needed at least some every day, and she actually got drunk about once every week and a half.

Winona Kirk always got horribly sad and nostalgic when she was drunk.

And that lasted about four months before she left one day in the early morning, she's going on another three-year mission, she's really sorry she didn't tell him earlier, goodbye Jimmy.

Jim goes to school that day, numb and listless, and afterwards, Karen Bishop from across the street picks him up and takes him home to pack. His mother left her with clear instructions. Jim's going to go live with his aunt for a little while.

His mother left him a one-way ticket to Tarsus IV.

 

 

 


	9. Lost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's Tarsus in this chapter, shown in vague and almost kid-friendly glimpses from Spock's perspective.

Spock doesn't notice anything is different at first.

He has his next dream in 2.64 months, as expected. The t'lema is sitting in a classroom, a new one, smaller than usual. Spock attributes it to the changing of the human school year, but then determines it must be something more. The class is abnormally tiny, and the other students are years older than Spock has projected the t'lema to be. Perhaps they have changed schools, likely to a private institute better suited to their advanced needs. It is about time that this has been addressed. The material being discussed seems finally advanced enough to be appropriate for one so intelligent, and Spock is pleased.

The dream after that is set in a strange kitchen with a strange woman Spock has never seen before. She smiles at the t'lema, ruffles their hair, and has them assist her in a baking project. It goes horribly, but they gag down ashy pastry while laughing anyway. The woman cracks first, claims to give up, and tosses the rest of the pastries down the incinerator. She makes a sighing comment about how much simpler this would be if they just had a replicator instead. The t'lema claims there would be no fun in that, and besides, they're 'out here to rough it, like those old pioneers.'

Spock is puzzled. He notes it thoroughly in his log.

The next dream is of a group of children clustered around a campfire at night. Their faces are oddly grim, and Spock does not see any camping equipment nearby, but that may be attributed to the darkness and the t'lema's perspective through human eyesight. One of the children, a young boy, starts sobbing. The t'lema rubs his back and shushes him, but makes no other overtures towards comfort. They do not ask what is wrong, or why he is crying unprompted, or call for an adult. None of the other children react in the slightest.

That is not true, after about ten minutes, a preteen girl puts her face in her hands and her shoulders start shaking. Spock assumes she is crying as well, but then she lifts her head and there are tears streaking down her face, yes, but she is laughing. She launches into a diatribe about the apparent insanity and unbelievability and unfairness of the situation, making thorough use of Standard profanity. Then the dream ends, and Spock is even more confused than he was last time.

It has been 9.82 months since the last normal dream when Spock finally realizes that something is deeply, deeply wrong.

It's the children again, and in the woods again too. The children are the exact same ones from last time, but four of them are absent. The t'lema's eyes shift to the ground, and there is a rectangular-ish hole dug there. The children are all standing around it.

The t'lema and a boy move away and drag a body from what is apparently their camp over and drop it into the hole, gently. The body is what appears to be a twelve-year-old human girl. There's a huge wound on the back of her head where her skull got smashed in, and the scent of blood is strong, though it has long since stopped flowing.

The t'lema reaches down and closes the girl's eyes.

“Here lies Jenny Tyler,” an older, teenage girl said. “She was a good kid. She had a big heart and she loved life. She was a soccer player, a baseball player, and tough as nails, through and through. She will be missed.”

Then all the other children scooped up handfuls of dirt and piled them on, over and over. Even with them all working together, it took a while. The body slowly disappeared and was replaced with a mound of loose dirt. No one appeared to have the heart to pack it in.

A very young child stepped forward and placed three dandelions on the grave, right over where the girl's chest would be.

The children dispersed then, slowly and lingering, and gave Spock a clear view of two other hand-dug graves nearby.

The t'lema went back over to the main area of the camp and meaningless chatter resumed, an older boy divvying up a stash of berries between everyone. Spock heard and felt the t'lema's stomach growl loudly. The older boy laughed, and told them to enjoy it while it lasted, because it was all they were getting for the day.

The dream ended and Spock felt cold and sick.

* * *

Spock researches.

There are literal hundreds of humans named Jenny Tyler, all plastered all over the holonet. No published records on minors, however, and Spock can't find any pictures of her on social media. Likely a precaution from her parents, given her youth. Incredibly unhelpful right now, however.

He is looking for reports of... something, some horrible tragedy, somewhere. He starts with Earth's North America, scanning the news very closely. He finds nothing. He constructs an algorithm that will scan the entire holonet and notify him of any news reports or mentions or fucking  _rumors_ that include certain keywords. He only wishes he had more details as to what had happened, so as to further refine it.

He skims through all of North America's written recent events and finds nothing. He expands his search to encompass the whole planet, and finds more nothing.

He reviews his notes, and deduces from the change in setting and his t'hy'la's odd comment about pioneers that they may be on a colony planet. The Federation currently has 243 established colonies, mostly at the insistence of humans, who seem ill-contented with their own planet. Spock scans each and every one of them methodically.

Nothing. No disasters anywhere, of any sort. Business as usual in the utopia of the Federation. Nothing is going on, nothing is wrong, every colony appears to thriving and the quality of life has never been higher. There is absolutely no reason for a band of children to be starving and digging graves in the woods.

None that are on the records anyway.

There are two possible conclusions: 1) whatever has happened is too minor to make even the local news of wherever it took place, which is illogical, as at least thirteen children went missing-- simultaneously, as far as Spock can tell, or 2) the unthinkable has happened and it is being covered up by someone or someones who have a great deal of power. A colonial government almost surely, but Spock is unsure as to how far up that would go.

Naturally, he insists his father do something about it, and this time, Sarek obliges. 

* * *

Sarek is on the comm with the Federation Council for 3.17 hours. Spock would know, as he eavesdropped the entire time.

When his conversation is finished, it has been formally,  _forcibly_ reasserted that telepathic accounts are viable witness evidence, that over a dozen children could not be slowly dying in the woods over any  _minor_ problem, and that Sarek can and will cause an interplanetary  ~~scandal~~ incident if he deems it necessary.

Every colonial governor is being contacted for a complete status report. The writing, reading, and reviewing process-- complete with the time needed for messages to travel across subspace-- should take about two months, hopefully not any longer.

* * *

The reports come back normal, and Sarek pitches a fit again. He's starting to lose his diplomatic standing, alienating people he needs to keep close ties with. He won't hold much sway in the next term, he's not sure if he'll even be reappointed. But for now, he demands that each colony be physically inspected by Starfleet, because he trusts his son's word and something is deeply wrong somewhere.

The Council agrees to send out one ship. Such a thorough inspection, of 243 colonies, plus the travel differential, could take years, they're warned.

* * *

Spock dreams of his t'hy'la crushing the skull of some furry creature with a rock, taking it back to the camp held high and met with cheers and whooping. It is promptly skinned, roasted, and split between what is now seven children.

He dreams of an older boy singing to pass the time, what sounds like every song he can think of. One gets stuck in Spock's head, a particularly catchy one. He could meditate it away, but he does not, and it stays there all day.

He dreams of what he first assumes is a game of hide and seek, like his t'lema had played in the past, but he later surmises that it is actually a drill, for in the event that their camp is discovered. It would appear that they are in hiding, then, on the run from the authorities. Spock informs Sarek of this, and he passes it along to the captain of the Grissom.

He dreams of the t'lema teaching a game called mancala to a child who looks hardly old enough to be in Terran school. They use they fingers to dig out holes in the sandy dirt and use small pebbles as game pieces. The child is soon smiling and giggling, and Spock learns another thing about his t'hy'la: they are kind, no matter what the circumstances.

A year has passed since the ship was sent out. Spock is eighteen, and he doesn't feel ready for anything.

But he is done with his secondary schooling, and decisions must be made.

He has a dream of a big guard and the t'lema shoved up against a wall, head hitting with a crack, rough hands roaming and hiking away fabric, a harsh kiss that tasted of tobacco, a proprietary tongue--

The dream ended there.

He wonders, sometimes, often, what state his t'hy'la will be in when he finds them. He knows he will meet them while they still live, at least.

He imagines them laid out on a hospital bed, skeletal with skin translucent, breathing raggedly and fed through a tube. Their mind broken and shattered by trauma, unable to even comprehend the horrors they lived through. Unresponsive, comatose, catatonic. Their beautiful, extraordinary mind flayed and shredded.

Sometimes when he's feeling indulgent and longing, he imagines a dream set years ago, years before this change, years before the t'lema's father became abusive. He imagines their brother stating out the t'lema's full name and maybe address, through circumstances that Spock changes from time to time. He imagines taking a shuttle to Earth immediately and swooping in and saving his t'hy'la, as any good Vulcan mate should. He would hold them close and take them away from that place, away to Vulcan. They would come live with his family and be safe and happy and cared for. They would complete their bond and the t'lema would be welcomed into Spock's clan and named as one of them. They would both attend the Vulcan Science Academy and later join the Vulcan Expeditionary Force.

They would be scientists and explorers together and accomplish great things and Spock would keep them safe, always. They would never know a harmful touch. They would be treasured and cherished, as they deserve to be.

Then reality comes flooding back in and Spock remembers how alone he is here, and he waits for, dreads, the next horrible dream.

He thinks of them, body broken and sobbing on an alien world, screaming from pain both mental and physical, and Spock reminds himself what a failure of a mate he is. How horribly, inexcusably, he has failed his t'hy'la.

He considers kolinahr.

* * *

Amanda adjusts his collar, incapable or not bothering to repress her smile at the moment. "There's no need to be anxious. You'll do fine."

"I am hardly anxious, Mother. And 'fine' has variable definitions. 'Fine' is unacceptable."

"Okay," she said, smiling again. She continued fuss needlessly with Spock's collar until he physically pulled her hands away.

"May I ask a personal query?"

"Anything."

"Should I choose to complete the Vulcan discipline of kolinahr and purge all emotion, I trust you will not feel it reflects judgement upon you." It's not phrased as a question nor does it sound like one, but she understands it nonetheless.

"Oh, Spock," she said. "As always, whatever you choose to be, you will have a proud mother."

* * *

"You have surpassed the expectations of your instructors. Your final record is flawless, with one exception. I see that you have applied to Starfleet as well," the head of the admissions council said.

"It was logical to cultivate multiple options."

"Logical, but unnecessary. You are hereby accepted to the Vulcan Science Academy," he said. "It is truly remarkable, Spock, that you have achieved so much despite your disadvantage. All rise."

"If you would clarify, Minister, to what disadvantage are you referring?"

"Your human mother."

He thinks of Michael being rejected from the VEF, and not for the first time, he wonders why, truly why. Michael, who was the perfect Vulcan in all things but blood, who abandoned her own ways and spent her life conforming to Vulcan philosophy.

He thinks of T'Pring, who proudly told the Vulcan elders to go fuck themselves and is currently flying through Starfleet's Academy as something of a legend. He thinks of her pointed messages about how wondrous she has found Earth to be, the shocking diversity and acceptance there, her statements that her course load is as challenging as any on Vulcan. He thinks of her all but pressganging him into at least applying.

He thinks of his mother, who left her whole world behind for love and stood up for her rights and endured years of small comments and degradations and discrimination. Who loved with her whole being, unapologetically, and adjusted but never truly assimilated, refused to pretend she was anything less than human.

He thinks of these three strong, amazing women who made him who he was and shaped him in indeterminable ways. Who were never once in their lives considered good enough by Vulcan society.

He looks to his father, who is silently urging him to remain silent, to accept the admission with grace and let it slide.

"Council. Ministers, I must decline," he said.

"No Vulcan has ever declined admission to this Academy."

"Then as I am half-human, your record remains untarnished."

"Spock, you have made a commitment to honor the Vulcan way," Sarek said. Spock was fairly certain he had had a choice, at one point.

"Why did you come before this council today?" the head minister asked. "Was it to satisfy your emotional need to rebel?"

"The only emotion I wish to convey is gratitude," he said. "Thank you, Ministers, for your consideration.  _Live long and prosper."_


	10. Transition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So like... Spock spends ten entire years at Starfleet before he even meets Jim? No one ever talks about this? I seriously doubt he graduated, went straight to being a commander, and instantly started teaching at the Academy. You don't go from student to professor in the span of a day, no matter how good you are
> 
> For more in-depth Tarsus-related angst, please see my other fic, Tarsus IV

Captain Pike meets Spock at the San Francisco shuttleport, offers the ta'al, and practically gushes about how excited the Academy is to have him here. Spock permits this with nothing more than a raised eyebrow.

He is shown to his dorm to drop his stuff off and then they go to Pike's office to review the matters of his academics. Spock's courseload has been uniquely tailored-- he suspects, in an effort to make Starfleet seem sufficiently challenging to him. If all goes according to plan, he will complete the accelerated track within three years.

* * *

They weren't given advance notice, they were taken completely unprepared.

The captain probably thought it was a kindness, getting them out as immediately as possible.

But when Jim saw every last one of his remaining kids get snagged, immobilized, by a transporter beam, his first thought was panic. He didn't even realize he couldn't move himself until he tried to run to Tommy and found he couldn't.

Erin's face was caught in a soundless scream as she faded into nothing, and then Jim couldn't see, he was disconnected particles floating through space, and then his body reassembled itself on a transporter pad and he was still staring at Erin, his legs were still moving towards Tommy.

He clutched at the older boy and then immediately reached around to pull Kevin close too. His eyes shot out around the room, scanning for threats.

The captain and two transporter techs stood looking at them solemnly. "Hello," the captain said. "I'm Captain Khichad of the USS Grissom. We're here to rescue you."

* * *

Spock has found that he has a supply of free time. He believes if he mentioned it, such an oversight would be immediately corrected. He decidedly does not. He devotes this excess time towards scientific endeavors.

T'Pring is studying cultural anthropology. She has taken to wearing her hair differently, experimenting with various styles of braids. She seems to have a developed a preference for leaving most of her hair loose except for one thick braid down the center, a very human style.

The first time they meet up off-campus, they both wear civilian clothing, but for Spock that means somber Vulcan robes and for T'Pring that means a faux leather jacket and a bright red pencil skirt. Her makeup has been done slightly differently as well. She attracts quite a bit of attention.

Spock masks his surprise and they both place their tea orders.

"Is there a purpose in your change in stylings?" he finally asks. He can only assume that is an experiment of some sort, or perhaps a further rebellion.

"Yes. I desire to attract sexual attention."

Spock chokes on his tea. T'Pring looks faintly smug and keeps talking.

"I have determined that traditional robes are undesirable, bordering on dreadful. As I am an adult and yet unbonded, the acquisition of a mate is of the highest priority."

"I am doubtful that increasing your sexual appeal will attract considerably more potential long-term partners. The human mind works in curious ways."

"I am aware. However, I should have another full decade, perhaps two, before the onset of pon farr. I shall search for a mate in the meantime, but until one is found, I believe it would be extremely logical to engage in casual sexual experimentation."

"How so?"

"When I eventually choose my mate, I would like to be skilled in providing for physical pleasure."

Spock nodded. "That is understandable."

"And yet you do not agree."

"The situation is different for myself. Knowing that I have a t'hy'la, I find I cannot tolerate the touch of any other."

A human male approached their table. "Hey, sorry to interrupt," he said, smiling a bit sheepishly. "I couldn't help but overhear part of your conversation earlier. And out of the generosity of my heart, I would be willing to help you out with your little problem. You see, I am-- eh heh--  _quite_ skilled in 'providing physical pleasure,' and I'd be willing to show you the ropes. Give you your first proper welcome to Earth."

T'Pring looked him up and down scathingly. "No."

He frowned. "But you said you wanted it."

"Not from you."

He laughed. "Come on. Everyone wants it from me." He dragged a chair over from another table, angling it so as to exclude Spock entirely. "I could show you a good time. You don't know what you're missing out on."

"I said no. That is the end of the discussion. You will respect my words. Now leave."

"Bitch." The human's face contorted into something malicious. "You're a fucking tease, you know that? You're literally asking for casual sex and then turning it down when a nice guy offers it to you. You know, sluts like you are the reason that--"

Spock stood abruptly from his chair. "You were asked to leave. I recommend you do so."

The human continued swearing heavily until other human staff in the coffee shop escorted him out. T'Pring returned to her tea, and Spock sat down.

"Speaking of your t'hy'la," she said. "Has any new information been presented since I spoke with you last?"

"Indeed," Spock said. "They were found on Tarsus IV. I assume you heard of the massacre there on the news?"

"Indeed," she said. "Unfortunate. Does your t'hy'la live?"

"Yes. The bond is intact."

"Why are you not at their side? Surely your destined one would require your presence and comfort now more than at any other time. The bond is whole, you know where they are. Why do you waste your hours at Starfleet?"

"You make assumptions. I do not know where they are. The survivors have been moved off-planet to a secure Federation hospital in order to recover. No names have been released yet. Only immediate family are being informed."

"Your bond is stronger than that of family."

"It is unknown who it is to, though."

"Hardly an excuse. Surely someone there is capable of logically deducing who your t'lema is."

"They have bigger matters to address. The authorities at the facility are focusing on healing and recuperation, as I hope my t'hy'la is as well," he said. "Captain Pike informs me that humans are at their most fragile and volatile immediately after leaving a traumatic environment. Their emotional state is known to be worse then even during the trauma itself as they exit what is known as 'survival mode' and begin to process what has happened. Psychologically, the last thing the t'lema needs right now is further emotional upheaval. I will keep my distance. We will meet when the time is right."

* * *

Jim was numb, back home, at first.

Well. Not numb. He  _felt,_ a lot, all the time, in a way that he wished he could just turn off. But he didn't do anything. He moved through life in a haze. He'd spend days in bed or on the couch, rewearing the same pajamas, only getting up to use the bathroom or eat-- on good days. Once a week his mother would harangue him into showering and then drive him to therapy, where he'd have stilted conversation with his counselor, answering question after question with one word answers.

He made it clear he didn't want to talk about Tarsus, no matter how much Dr. Trusava kept coming back to it.

Sometimes he'd give longer answers. About things from before. His childhood. She somehow managed to light on his dreams and he spent that entire session and the two others after it gushing about Spock.

It'd been a while since he'd had a chance to do that. He had thought about Spock a lot back on Tarsus, but talked about him never. All of the kids had been secretly, in the back of their minds, worried about going insane. And Jim had been the leader. He had to be the picture of strength and stability, no matter what. No weakness allowed.

Him gushing about the weird prophetic dreams he has sometimes and the intense emotional stock he has placed in them would not have inspired confidence.

Still, though. It had been nice to think about. To imagine that someone out there cared and was looking for him. To get lost in imagining Spock going through dull, normal, everyday-life things. Such a mundane thing, like dreaming of Spock going through his nightly routine, and it had such a profound effect on Jim's peace of mind. It was so... He didn't have words for it, but that. That was what he wanted. To get off of Tarsus and go through boring, mundane, shockingly normal things again. Spock's bullies didn't seem to appear in his dreams anymore, hadn't for years, and Jim figured the biggest stressor he had was choosing which elite university he will grace with his presence, and by  _god,_ Jim could only imagine.

It wasn't quite envy, because as much as he wanted that for himself, he was fiercely glad that Spock had it.

His therapist didn't mock him for his dreams, or try to call him crazy for them. She didn't say they were a delusion or try and classify them as a symptom. Not a psychological one, anyway. And so the words poured out of him like a dam bursting.

"Have you ever tried to find him?" she asked.

"What?" Jim asked.

"Spock. There can't be that many Vulcan-human hybrids out there. Have you ever tried to contact him?"

He faltered. "And say what?" he said. "Hey, I'm this gross, fucked-up human from Iowa, and I think I've been seeing you in my dreams?" He shook his head. "'Sides. He's probably not a real person anyway."

"What makes you think that?" Dr. Trusava asked.

"They're just dreams, arent' they?" he said. "No one even knows what causes them. Maybe it's just like... a weird defense mechanism or something. My brain creating its own escapist fantasy."

Dr. Trusava raised an eyebrow. She moved on to her next question, and Jim never brought up his dreams again.

* * *

_He was in the front of a classroom, and he could just somehow sense that it was large. Elegant fingers tapped out notes on a padd, adding swirls and emblems onto lines already flowing with Vulcan script._

_Jim could read it, now. It was about warp drive mechanics._

_A professor stood at the front of the room, drawing out a diagram on the screen as he spoke. He was discussing the theory of a cold-fusion restart-- obviously impossible, but apparently the VSA was working on a prototype equation for it._

_It sounded like a load of bullcrap to Jim, so he tuned it out and took note of his surroundings instead._

_That was when he noticed the distinctive red cadets' uniform sleeves encasing Spock's arms._

_His stomach dropped out. Or it would have, if he were not limited solely to experiencing Spock's physical sensations._

_Starfleet. Spock was in Starfleet._

_He felt a wave of bitterness and disgust overtake him._

_What had he expected, really? Of course Spock would join Starfleet. This was all in his messed-up brain, right? And in there, everyone he ever cared about abandoned him for the stars._

_God. At this rate, he'd have a few more dreams at the Academy and then get to see Spock die, graphically and brutally. Probably while alone. And his last words would be something about how he hated Jim specifically. It didn't make sense yet, but he knew that would happen somehow. Maybe they would get to meet first, once, in his dreams, just to make it more painful._

_He spent the next ten minutes trying desperately to will himself awake._

* * *

Jim didn't go back to school until the next semester. His mom refused to even consider it a second beforehand. She asked him about eight billion times if he thought he was ready, if he wanted to take the whole year off, if he wanted to try homeschooling instead.

He brushed it all off with casual false confidence and a deep feeling of numb apathy underneath.

And so after winter break, at fifteen years old, Jim joined the freshman class of Riverside High School.

It sucked.

* * *

 

The next three years were painstakingly, torturously slow for both of them.

Spock completed his schoolwork with brisk efficiency. Jim mostly attended high school, and dealt with at least the majority of his homework.

Spock was something of a social outcast in San Francisco. This, at least, was not new. And of course, he still had T'Pring for companionship. He spoke with his professors and advisors when necessary, and his fellow students almost never. It was disappointingly similar to his early schooling on Vulcan.

Jim drank and partied and went on dates sporadically, falling in and out of relationships with ease.

Spock dreamt of his t'lema bent over a toilet, vomiting intensely, tears running down their eyes and warm blood in their nose.

Jim dreamt of his Vulcan downing a cup of coffee quickly, despite already shaking with caffeinated energy, and then heading out into the drizzling rain on the way to class and having insults hurled at him from other students across the street.

The t'lema in the backseat of an aircar, a strange boy kissing them breathless.

Spock giving an oral presentation on the history and development of robotic bees.

T'lema doodling crudely violent cartoons on a grammar worksheet.

Spock in the lab, examining microorganisms.

T'lema playing kickball in gym class.

A quiet period alone, drinking blue tea (not as good as the real stuff) and reading the news.

Them getting into a beat up aircar and blasting classic rock into the night, screaming along with it, driving with no destination.

Spock giving a speech at graduation, his mother and sister in the audience, quiet pride on their faces.

It went slowly, so slowly.

 


End file.
